


The Lost Child

by TylaLynn323



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Force Ghost Anakin Skywalker, Hurt Luke, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker Has Issues, Luke Skywalker Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 11:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30004368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TylaLynn323/pseuds/TylaLynn323
Summary: Luke stared hard at the front of the hut. It should have worked. Had he done it wrong … or was there something wrong with him? A whisper of wind sounded behind him, and a young voice drifted to his ears, “Hello, son.” No. No.___________________________________Luke goes to Tatooine after Endor, stewing in his grief and anger, to build himself a new lightsaber. But all his attempts fail, and he is eventually visited by Anakin's Force Ghost. Angst ensues.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	The Lost Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seasider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seasider/gifts).



> This idea was given to me by MJ Mink (FFN), or Seasider as they're known on Ao3, :)
> 
> Really, this is just a gift to them, but I hope everyone else enjoys it too! :)

A darkly clad figure stood tall on one of the sand dunes of Tatooine, his worn hood and cape flicking in the harsh desert wind. A small hut stood immune to the howling around them. It blended well with the colors around it, melting into the cliff face it rested against.

Memories flooded his mind. It had been so long. His hood slipped from his head slightly, revealing a wisp of dark blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes.With a face too young for the burden that seemed to rest upon his shoulders. Arms pressed firmly to his sides, he frowned. It felt wrong, like something was fundamentally different, but nothing was.

Everything was the same. The same as when he’d been 15 and eager to travel the stars, eager to fly and explore, chafing at the limitations placed upon him at the farm. When the old harmit spoke of stuff beyond his wildest dreams. The home still sat in the same place, the sand surrounding it remained exactly the same, the peace and calm that radiated from the old home was still there. His gaze flicked to the horizon where the twin suns began to set, casting a familiar red glow over the hot dunes.

His hand subconsciously caressed the empty cylinder on his belt. It’s weight had never felt so heavy. So much … so much had happened while he’d been away. So much had been lost.

Lips pursed, he turned and retrieved his duffle from the speeder behind him. The predators would be out soon, it would be wise to enter shelter. With heavy eyes he watched the ground as he walked closer, unwilling to see the familiar doorway approaching, just as it had so long ago.

No, nothing had changed.

Nothing that is … except him.

**~LOST~**

He sighed as the faint smell of off-world herbs hit him. Sweet herbs hung from the ceiling, filling the deserted hut with a comfort that had been lost to him for a very long time. He dropped his belongings on the slightly ruffled cot, and looked quickly around the room. He was only here for one specific purpose, but where would he find them?

The shelves cleft from the walls were only full of books and knick-knacks.

_ Oh just some accessories, my boy. Not much more. _

He remembered the hermit’s faint smile, which had given rise to his younger self’s delusion that he had some sort of knowledge of future events. Now … looking back … it seemed nostalgic. The old jedi had been lost in memories of a simpler time, “a more civilised age” as he would say. He knew the feeling now, the want to go back in time, and find the joy that he’d always missed or overlooked. Good things were never appreciated when they came, never more than when the bad rolls around.

Dust puffed as he stepped softly across the floor, afraid to disturb the peace around him. A small corner of a small rug next to the bed was askew, ruining the orderly perfection of the scene. His cloak swished as he kneeled down and peeled the rug back, revealing a hatch with a small rope handle. Taking a quick glance around, as if someone would jump out from the shadows and stop him, he grabbed hold of the handle and swiftly tore the hatch open, feeling as if he had just committed a sacrilege.

The dust from years of neglect swarmed up to face-level and he coughed from the inhalation. He waved his hand around, trying to give himself space to breathe and watched the disturbance settle down once again. A set of wooden steps greeted him, jarring in the previous absence of wood throughout the hut. A creak sounded as he slowly placed a foot on the top step, and he exhaled softly. There was a painful tug in his heart.

He’d only known the man for a week.

Why did this hurt so much?

_ “Luke, some things are not meant to be understood. This is something you must accept if you are to succeed.” A small fond chuckle, “Your father never did. Such a curious boy.” _

_ He drifted into a sad silence. _

_ “What a boy.” _

He huffed, what a boy indeed.

The last step came sooner than he expected, but as the light from upstairs drifted in, he could see a very small room, full of various memorabilia. Three lightsabers hung conspicuously on the wall above a large old trunk. The white dust that coated the trunk looked far too old to have been touched within the last decade. His steps were unsure as he moved toward it, ignoring the important looking books on either side of him. Still, after all this time, all his training, he could still be reduced to that naive child by an old trunk in his mentor’s basement.

He huffed and sent away his negative feelings, waiting as they were absorbed into the force. A trembling hand flipped the gold lock, and lingered for a moment before it opened the lid, revealing first a set of old tattered jedi robes. Holotape discs were sloppily covered to the right , and his hand brushed over them gently. Blue eyes continued to scan the rest of the contents, and finally came upon a inlaid wooden box, with three letters on the top.

_ O.W.K _

He slowly lifted it up, the thud of it colliding against the trunk wall completely faded into the background as he blew off the dust. A smaller carve on the side of it read.

_ The property of Ben Kenobi. _

Ben. Old Ben.

His teeth grit together as he remembered the past.

_ Run, Luke _ .

The trunk lid slammed closed as his emotions once again rose.

Yes, yes run. He ran. Ran from the one he’d been searching for his whole life. Look where that got him. He hoped old Ben was happy. Happy with how it all turned out.

Because he sure wasn’t.

The steps creaked beneath him as he left the basement, tucking the small box underneath his arm, refusing to look at it again. A small burst of wind drifted in through the open window as he reemerged on the surface, but it was disregarded. An almost mournful whistle could be heard in that breeze if one listened closely.

He stared solemnly at the sand wall, wanting for all the galaxy to simply cry, to let his grief out. But all that would achieve … all that would achieve was a kriffing headache.

And as he slowly seeped in his growing anger, a sandstorm grew outside the hermit’s house, and the soft wind which drifted in sounded as if many were shedding their own tears. So sat the Son of Skywalker, the Chosen One …

The Lost Child.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do review and let me know what you think!


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